


Strike Team α

by deanwinchesterissaved



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: BAMF Ryan Bergara, BAMF Shane Madej, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Shane Madej, I've been working on changing this up a bit, I've had more time to write other things and gain experience, Psychological Torture, Secret Organizations, Seer Ryan Bergara, Torture, this work is not abandoned I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-05 15:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/pseuds/deanwinchesterissaved
Summary: There are only a handful of strike teams that are trusted in their trade. Madej and Bergara had been sent on a simple mission: retrieve the target, destroy the evidence. But it all went horribly wrong. [HIATUS]Inspired by pinterest prompt:"I have a plan.""Thank goodness.""It involves fire.""Absolutely not."





	1. Night-Night

**Author's Note:**

> The lore for this fic is a mix of Supernatural, the Throne of Glass series, and various demon!Shane fanfictions. This is my first fic after reading so, so many. Yay!
> 
> [Note from February 2020: I am not abandoning this work, I am very interested in this universe, but in order to get it the way I like it, I'll have to do some largescale changes to the story, most importantly building backstory.
> 
> It will take a bit, and I love the support and feedback I've gotten for this too much to delete it. So expect the revised (hopefully tidier) story posted sometime in May/June as a sequel(?) to this work.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this and gave me the support I needed to commit to keep writing in general, I love you guys <3 ]

"You're not going to like this."

"Please, humor me"

"I have a plan." 

"Thank goodness."

"It involves fire."

"Absolutely _ not. _" The man whispered with as much force as he dared, running a hand down his face to wipe away the perspiration, "But," he said begrudgingly, "I do appreciate you telling me before implementing it"

"Oh, you are really not going to like this."

"You went and did it didn't you."

"Yup." The lanky man said, popping the 'p' on the word, earning a halfhearted jab in the ribs from his companion that he did not manage to dodge in time.

"Ow." He complained, "You could have easily blown our cover with that. You know full well this is the best course of action we have. Just because of what happened last time does not mean I will blow our own property up again if I make a teeny tiny spark. Though," he paused, a devious grin spreading across his face, "wreaking a good number of items in this hovel they have the audacity to call a lair is already on today's agenda."

"I am so going to regret this," The man sighed, "hmmm, fine... talk to me Shane."

"Don't judge so soon," Shane pouted, "Cheer up Ry, it might be fun!"

Their whispers were not heard over the quiet chatter amongst the two dozen men in the cave, fifteen clustered around the table with a healthy spread of papers across it, four standing guard by the office door, and five stationed along the stairwell, all dressed in blackish gear with a multitude of weapons of varying technical development. The taller man's gaze swept over the men again, marking out the eight machine guns in their respective holsters, as well as daggers and cheap-made swords that hung at the men's sides. Sure the plan was risky, and could possibly end up blocking both their exits if the goons called for backup, but it was best to use all the skills in their arsenal, just in case. Even at the risk of the men having enough information to take appropriate measures against him. 

His gaze fell to the waist high iron chest next to the office door, a complicated witch's mark carved to the top, and a flicker of his mind confirmed its nasty contents. If they went to the trouble to arm themselves with one of those outside that stupid office, there ought to be more precautions within. 

In and out, quick and clean. That was their mission: to retrieve the target and destroy the supplies before X's men can arrive to collect them. The rotation outside the bunker is bound to discover the bodies in their next rounds, leaving them less than five minutes to complete their task. Crouched behind one of the crates furthest from the office, the two men shared a look and split up, the taller man creeping around the crates until he was in full sight of the guards, summoning glowing yellow flames to his palms and clamping them onto the backs of the two guards heads, effectively roasting their brains. Meanwhile, the smaller figure slinked around to the other side and lunged forward with twin daggers drawn upon another guard. 

In an instant, three guards had crumpled to the floor with hardly a sound, but the rest whipped towards both of them with more speed than the agents had given them credit for, and upon seeing the flames still crackling in Shane's hands, two of the door guards bolted for the iron chest, their guns momentarily abandoned in favor of the more appropriate tools. Looks like X had managed to drill knowledge into some of his men's instincts, Shane tensed, he would deal with those two later. Refocusing, he dodging with inhuman speed as three of the machine guns fired on him, and a sideways glance revealed Ry disarming a guard of his gun and quickly putting him down with a quick swipe of the dagger, his form as fluid and graceful as ever. 

Shane's grin widened as he leaped forward, palming twin swords from his belt, the blades dark as ink to Ry's moonlight silver, and slashed into guards with practiced ease, using his flame to set fire to the desk, the papers quickly catching and burning bright, because Shane can't help a little dramatic flair, and of course there is the benefit of adding to the guards' panic. He kept an eye on Ry and the gun carriers around the table, vaguely noting the sounds of two pairs of feet clambering down the stairwell in response to the chaos, and lost himself to the routine violence. His longtime partner was doing well, as to be expected, years of brutal training more than making up for the disadvantages of his very human disposition. He had neutralised another machine gun by chucking a dagger at the man’s hand and delivering a definitive stab to his throat.

The remaining few gunmen seemed to realize the futility of shooting at Shane since the bullets that he couldn't dodge only elicited grimaces, doing little to slow his attacks. When two of them desperately turned to aim at Ry as the easier target, Shane lashed out with both blades and flames, slicing a gun out of the guard's hand and reducing the speeding bullets into molten puddles of liquid metal onto the dusty concrete floor. Ry moved to disarm the remaining gun, sending Shane an appreciative glance that quickly grew wide with alarm, and suddenly Shane felt bursts of white hot pain strike across his back, the flames along his swords winking out as he staggered into the table, the metallic clicks finally registering in his mind as the cocking of shotguns, with bullets of rock salt. Old fashioned, sure, but they did the damn job just fine. Ry had received a good punch to the jaw for his moment of distraction, and rage burned in Shane as he whirled around to face the stairwell with his teeth bared, flames exploding along his arms and blades, forming a flickering shield around himself.

The four men blasted at Shane again, the salt chunks tearing holes through his fire but at least they hit his body with significantly less force. The men’s doom came when they pulled at their triggers in vain, the weapon useless without a reload. Shane took the chance and lunged, his obsidian blades drinking in the fresh blood coating its smooth surfaces until no one remained by the door. He turned to Ryan, who had silenced the ex-gunman as expected, and was now striding over opening a black kit of slender silver tools to work on the lock. 

The was a sloshing of liquid behind him, and Shane had half-turned toward it in inquiry when a strong burst of water struck his jaw, and it _ burned _ , sending blinding streaks of pain across his face and down his spine as his skin boiled and melted at the contact, his right eyelid shriveling as the bared eye faded to milk-white. He jerked back and hunched over, bracing himself against the agony like he had been trained to countless times. It still fucking hurt. Snarling, he swung himself around and threw two daggers he had slipped from their sheaths with one hand, one lodging itself in the eye socket of the water gun wielder--humans are getting smart, a fucking holy water gun no less, X was indeed putting up an effort if he equipped his men with actually _ effective _tools against his kind. The other dagger hit the wall with a clink and stuck, missing the guards head by an inch, which Shane accepted as a side effect of only having one functional eye. He darted over the bodies littering the ground, made quick work of the survivor, catching another man running down the stairwell by the throat and pressing a flame in, burning out his vocal cords then brainstem before he could make a sound.

Dropping the corpse, he turned and sent a ball of fire towards the stupid water gun, but the fire hissed and recoiled when it touched the liquid. Shane frowned, settling for chopping the weapon up with his swords instead. If X had more of these at his disposal, it will seriously compromise his future missions unless they figure out a defense strategy. 

"Shane." The voice was quivering slightly, "Are you good?"

Ryan was watching him, hands braced on the lock, one twist away from opening the door. Shane nodded, readying his swords as he took up position flanking his partner, angling his head to get a better view from his good eye. When Ry's gaze didn't waver from the ghastly burns on his face, he gave him a lopsided grin, "Time's a-wastin, partner, the mission is the priority."

Ryan nodded, his mouth in a grim line and turned the lock. The door opened to two guards with rifles trained on them both, and a middle-aged man standing behind the mahogany desk on the side of the dingy concrete room. 

As the triggers were pulled, the agents spun into action, Ryan swiping out a leg to knock the feet of a gunman out from under him while Shane whipped out an arm to block the sailing bullets before they could find their target. A few more swipes of their blades and the men were crumpling onto the ground, gurgling as they choked on the blood pouring into their lungs. Shane straightened, casually flicking the blood from his blades as he cracked a smile at the remaining man. 

He was trembling, his hands going white from gripping the desk so hard. Staring at Shane with wide eyes, he ground out, "You abomination! You can't get away with this forever."

"Oh", Shane purred, stalking toward the desk, sheathing his swords. He won't need them for this man. "But we already have."

In a flash, he had moved behind the desk, clamping a hand over the man's mouth, sending flickers of fire down his throat until he passed out from the pain. They made quick work of securing the man and finding the documents they needed. Shane hefted the man onto his shoulder, quickly stepping through the doorway and then the garage door after Ryan gave the all-clear. 

Shane extended his palm, half a thought had a cluster of flames flickering into existence. “_ Lyft sy þe in bǽlwylm ac forhienan se wiðere _." he murmured under his breath, and the fire in his hand roared, exploding into the bunker, instantly engulfing all its contents and turning the space into a blazing inferno. 

"Neat," Ryan admitted, surveying the scene while began to approach a sewer grate on the side of the dimly lit tunnel. The passage twists and turns out of view, but a look at his watch told him that the patrols would have found the bodies now, and indeed, over the crackling of the fire he can hear a banging and shouting at the door to the stairwell, though even if they kicked the door down, the hellfire will keep that path blocked long enough for them to be clear of this place. 

"See? Letting me play around with fire isn't so bad." Shane smirked, then remembered that half his face and neck was melted, and winced. At Ryan’s worried look, he added, "I've survived worse than this, let's just get out of here." 

The shorter man slipped down first into the subterrestrial passageway, and the unconscious body was passed down and dumped on the ground, with Shane bending down and making to follow, gritting his teeth against the pain that spiked across his back. The damn rock salt blasts had torn into skin and bone, and it would be tortuous and tedious to clean out since his skin would try and knit together around the burrowed shards. 

SITUATION 1: They live, for now

Dropping down, Shane grimaced at the impact, taking care to avoid the particularly grimy sections of the sewer floor, then gently set the sewer grate back in place. They hurried on, assuming their prior formation with Ryan scouting ahead and Shane bringing up the rear, his dark power wrapped around them, allowing the men to melt into the shadows that stretched into the night

SITUATION 2: Shit goes down

He was looking down, wholly focused on scanning the grimy sewer floor for a half-decent place to land, when the tip of a barrel was thrust into the mangle of flesh on his lower back, the accompanying blistering pain melting his shredded skin had him crying out. Another holy water gun, damn the bastards. Flinging out a hand to brace himself against the wall, Shane had enough presence of mind to send a dark wind down the hole to hide any sight of Ryan from the dim torchlight bleeding down into the sewers. 

"Going somewhere?" The voice was cool, cheerful even. 

The barrel pushed harder, forcing him against the wall lest his assailant melts his spine with another blast. The rough surface cut into Shane's still intact cheek as a second barrel was placed snugly against his temple, and he slowly lifted his hands off the wall in mock greeting. 

"You treat all your guests this way?" Shane drawled in his most disinterested voice. He hated the vulnerability of his position. There was no point in attempting to disarm the men--and it was certainly two sets of footsteps that he heard-- the two barrels posing immediate threats to organs he would need _ very much _ in his escape. All he could do was buy Ryan more time. 

"You shove them up against a wall before night-night? Well guess what, your boss has a message for you, _you're all fired_." He flashed a grin against the wall, and earned himself a punch to the kidney. Since the beginning of their partnership, there had been a system of codes that had been agreed on to signal each other. As half a joke, he had chosen _ night-night _ to mean _ I’ve been compromised, finish the mission then regroup,_ but they had never had occasion to put that specific code to use, until now. Ryan would have a good gauge of the situation above from that code. He would take the target and head to the rendezvous point, proceeding alone if need be. He had to. Ryan had gone down nearly a minute ago, which must have been around the time the men had snuck up on Shane. They had no reason to believe there was more than one arsonist, and all the witnesses were dead. He will claim he was acting alone. Shane will _make _them believe it. 

His hands were wrestled into iron handcuffs that bit into his wrists, and suddenly he was too tight in his skin, the form that had been agreeable so far now felt like a fitted cage. Panic swept in and his ears only had the chance to pick up a heavy swish, then his world went dark, and not in the way he fancied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, there are two possible paths here:
> 
> Situation 1 They succeed on the mission and take on more dangerous missions, with some normal people interactions between the boys to come
> 
> Situation 2 Shane is captured
> 
> Please comment on which one you are more interested in. I can't really make up my mind.


	2. Descent

Ryan had stooped down to check the man's bindings, about to quip at Shane to get his slow ass down into the tunnel and not be dramatically worried for the cleanliness of his boots, since they had to be drenched in blood at this point. They were identical to the ones Ryan wore and had been chosen for their thick soles and washability if the missions got gory, which they mostly did. 

He had looked up to do just that, but Shane wasn't there anymore. He heard a cry of pain and a thud as a body was shoved against the wall, a new set of boots peeking over the lip of the sewer hole. Then a darkness whipped down and blocked out the light of the tunnel, and he tensed, backing deeper into the shadows. 

"Going somewhere?" There was a faint metallic click. A second gun. Shit. 

"You treat all your guests this way? You shove them up against a wall before night-night?", came Shane's drawl, "Well guess what, your boss has a message for you. You're all _fired_." A grunt of pain followed as Shane got punched for the stupid pun. But it was the phrase that Shane had tossed out, casual as you please, that stuck in his mind, god it had been so_ long_ ago when they had set up those codes. 

He sprung into action, the seconds he had wasted were those he did not have the liberty to squander, and more would slip from him soon enough. He tried to slow his heartbeat with deep breaths, creeping over to haul the tied man onto his shoulder, legs straining from the weight and nervous energy. There was the rustling of fabric and twin metallic clicks. They must have put handcuffs on him, specialized too, if Shane didn't just turn around and tear them to shreds. 

His heart clenched at the heavy thunk of a strike of metal on bone, and the darkness around the opening shuddered, starting to melt away. Ryan bolted, his training and prior scouting silencing his feet and guiding him through the winding tunnels down, down, and out into the night. He had to trust Shane to meet him at the rendezvous. If the fucker didn't show, Ryan will call on hell itself to get him out. 

\--------------------------------------------

_ There had been a time when they weren't partners, even if now it seemed like their lives were intertwined since the beginning.  _

_ Ryan Bergara had been born into a decent Californian family, went to college, bounced around a few jobs, and ended up as a video editor at Buzzfeed. He always bore a strange fascination with the martial arts, joining an MMA association as a kid, and rapidly building up a reputation of being a quick learner. He bested his combatants in almost every match, and by the time he settled down at his new workplace, he had been among the chosen to replenish the ranks of D.A.S.T (Defense Against Supernatural Threat), which opened his eyes in whole other ways.  _

_ Oh, and another thing—Ryan could see things, about people. He could sense the marks experiences left on a person, and sometimes, he would soothe the jagged and bruised splinters of the soul, putting men's spirits back together just as efficiently as he could tear their bodies down.  _

_ The D.A.S.T. agents worked pairs, combining their ‘specialties’ to work wonders or destruction. Ryan had simply walked into the training room one day to see his handler with Shane, and Shane was well, he just was. His lanky frame and flannel camouflaged lean muscle and deadly skills, and under his skin Ryan had sensed a darkness, which snapped to him when he let out a soft gasp, not in fear, but in awe of the uncanny beauty of that lightless expanse within. His eyes met the man's, and he glimpsed in them the same stunning darkness that Ryan had seen in the strange man's soul.  _

_ Introductions were exchanged, they gripped forearms in greeting, and Ryan remained transfixed with his new partner throughout the weeks of training to work in tandem, his fascination only growing the more they worked together. Shane's mind was almost strictly practical, broken up with bursts of dramatics every once in a while. He claimed his thought process was rooted in what he deemed 'real science', though Ryan didn’t know how he could give those concepts so much credit when he knows what Ryan can see, and what his own fire can do.  _

_ And wasn't that a sight, to turn around and see flames flicker to life in Shane's palms, fire hot enough to melt metal if he so wished it. Shane fought with his twin stygian swords lined with flames, and his darkness fit surprisingly well against Ryan's light, the man's fierceness grounded by Ryan's steady presence.  _

_ After D.A.S.T. released them into the field, up they shot through the charts until they were one of the best strike teams out there. Until life partnering with Shane had become the norm.  _

\--------------------------------------------

Shane woke to a bucket of freezing water dumped on his head, not the holy kind, thank the devil. But his relief had a pathetically minuscule lifespan, as he instinctively reached for his slice of darkness and fire in reaction to the rude awakening, to do what he wasn't sure, lash out probably. But he couldn't.

He blinked away the water in his eyes, silently thankful for his body's regenerative ability that had restored his sight to its full power. His body tensed as his power surged within him, pushing against an invisible barrier he realized was his own skin. He let his eyes slip to black to assess his situation and had to squint against the piercing white light emanating from the stinging marks carved into his arms and chest, set with salt so they would remain as scars even if the skin healed. Containment runes, binding him and his power to the mortal body. His arms were twisted above his head, hanging from the ceiling by the marked cuffs they had put on him before, his shirt had been cut off and his feet were bound with heavy irons that clinked on the floor when he shifted. It appears Tinsley had done his homework, and well. 

For that was the man who stood before him, placing the bucket on the floor. He stood at 6 feet tall, with a well-muscled body and short-cropped dark hair. His black leather jacket was worn at the edges, and it creaked softly as he crossed his arms and fixed Shane with a glare. Shane pointedly turned his head to look around: the room was unremarkable, concrete walls connecting to a bare floor and a single bulb that let out a bleached white light that was eerily similar to the runes. He wondered idly if they had managed to bless the damn lamp too somehow. At least Ryan wasn't here, just so he can be spared the embarrassment of being contained like this. 

"There he is." It was the same voice that had accosted him in the tunnel, a voice that stayed cool with a practiced ease that would have unsettled lesser men. It came from behind him, and Shane craned his neck around to glimpse a wiry man snappily dressed in a suit, tie and slacks, evidently not a physical fighter, though that might not matter much considering his present situation. 

"Now Mr. Madej," the man drawled, and Shane had enough self-composure to appreciate the thoroughness of their grasp of his information, "your partner has made away with an individual of significant interest to my people, and it would be a great error for you to refuse to cooperate. You know what we do."

Shane smirked at the man, and his bravado was not entirely faked as he enunciated clearly, "If you know so much about me, then you should realize that you won't get anything from me. The intel is ours now," he paused, then added nastily to Tinsley, "you'll never see your man again."

"One hour, then we're bringing her in." Mr. Suit warned Tinsley, who was bristling like a freakish pufferfish, and promptly glided out of the room. The movement was so smooth that Shane would bet Ryan would love to look into that out of professional curiosity. 

Tinsley was near shaking with anger now, he picked up a pipette from the steel table, jerked back Shane's head and squirted the liquid into his eyes. Shane snarled in pain and tried to snap at the man, but the hand on his hair held him in place as the holy water burned through the sensitive corneas and seeped inside his eye sockets. He jerked away as soon as his hair was released and felt with some morbid fascination as a gooey substance dripped down his face. They didn't need him to see for the next part. 

"Oh that stings doesn’t it? You better start talking or I have so much more where that came from. You'll regret ever messing with us." The man was still close, so he inclined his head in the general direction of Tinsley's voice in mock salute, "Bring it on then,  _ human _ ."

\-------------------------------------------

Ryan paced in the brightly lit room, keeping his eyes on the twitching figure secured in the chair in the center, with A.J.'s glowing hands on his temples, the psychic's face scrunched up in concentration. 

It's been four hours since he arrived at HQ with the target and an hour before that to make his escape from the mountain lair. His people had been ready to receive him, though his lone appearance was met with grim faces as his handler and colleagues were faced with the severity of the situation. 

The target was taken to this room, secured, and A.J. had immediately set to work on his mind, weaving through it to find the patches of darkness that contained the information they wanted,  _ needed _ , to ensure the safety of the strike teams on further missions. The psychic had reported that the information had been locked into the man's mind, stitched over with a patchwork of dark magic spells so that no amount of physical torture would have pried the intel out, since the man himself was not privy to its details. Even with skilled mind manipulators, there was still a high risk of death if anyone tried to incorrectly unravel or tear through the magic to retrieve the information. 

Ryan shuddered, both in disgust and pity. It was all within their expectations of course. On multiple interactions before, X had already demonstrated his absolute lack of hesitation in taking extreme measures in his business. It was why the group had been so difficult to dismantle. They had been using the man like a damn  _ computer chip _ with a fucking self-destruct button, sending guards to secure him after he retreated to the safehouse post-mission until they could cart him off and get a chance to crack him themselves. 

They had resolved to let A.J. work his magic carefully, to gather as much information as he could without permanently damaging the man. They had to be better than their enemies if they were ever to use morality as a justification for their work. Even with what the group does on a daily basis to anyone they can catch that has any useful supernatural ability, even with what they must be doing to Shane right now.

Ryan gritted his teeth at the memory of that cool voice and Shane's grunt of pain as they took him. He had been sloppy, riding the high of battle and a mission that had seemed far easier than their handler had made it seem. The restless two-hour wait at the rendezvous point had driven him into a panic, until Sarah, a fellow agent and longtime friend, grabbed him and firmly told him to calm the fuck down so they can make gather a team and make a plan of attack. She was right of course, and Ryan chided himself for losing his cool in the moment, but hearing Shane get dragged away and then not appearing later with a wide lopsided smile had twisted a knife in his gut. 

He glanced at the window, where the dark sky was beginning to give away to the light of day. He wasn't a praying man, nor did he think God actually cared about the schmucks that were down here on earth, but he  _ wished  _ that Shane will be able to get out of this, with or without backup. He closed his eyes, imagining the wish falling, falling, falling from his mind straight and true for wherever Shane had called home office, once upon a time.  _ Get him out of there. _

\--------------------------------------------

Shane dangled by his wrists, his legs and feet no longer capable of supporting his body after the onslaught of blows and holy water, and now raw, blistered flesh scuffed against the rough cement floors, sending residual tingles of pain over the giant ache that was his body. 

That was one disadvantage he had not considered about his 6 foot 4 frame: to a skilled enemy mind, a taller man would just yield much more material to be used against him. 

His back and arms were littered with the dotted marks of dozens of salt shotgun blasts, the salt shards ripping into the already torn skin from the mission and stayed there, conveniently managing to avoid all the containment marks. Even blinded and crippled, Shane was quite proud to have kept up his snark, though sometimes it was cut short with screams he had not managed to hold back. 

Footsteps approached him again, they must be close to hitting that hour mark now, and if he was being completely honest he was a little worried what they had done to the 'her' Suit Guy mentioned to persuade her to take part in this interrogation. He opened his mouth to make another truly bad pun that Ry might have punched him for, but Tinsley took advantage of his moment of distraction and clamped his hand onto his lower-jaw.

"You're going to tell me where your headquarters are. See if you can still snark at me after this." With one hand forcing his mouth open and the other shoving an iron tube down his throat, Tinsley gave the order. The sound of sloshing water was the only warning Shane got before his throat and lungs were filling with holy water. His body spasmed, instinctively trying to shy away from the blessed liquid but his restraints gave him little space to maneuver. Shane half-consciously knew it only took 13 seconds to empty the canteen of holy water, though it seemed like an eternity before his head was released. 

Tinsley left the fucking pipe in, and it cut into the back of his throat as he shook. Hacking coughs rocked his body, spittle and blood dribbling down out his mouth as he struggled to breathe with the blasted water eating away at his lungs. He dimly knew that he did not, in fact, need to breathe, but it had become a sort of bad habit during his time up above that stuck with him in the most inconvenient times. Nevertheless, the water was still burning him from the inside out, and he desperately tried to expel it before it did damage that he won't be able to heal.

"Wait, this is too much." A young man likely still in his late teens approached them, his footsteps sounded from the direction of the door. There was a rustle of fabric as if he had stretched out a hand to hold back Tinsley's arm. Shane felt a spike of fear in the boy when Tinsley turned his full attention to him, but to his credit, he held his ground.

"You think the bastard deserves any better?" Tinsley hissed, his words filled with anger and venom, "His little friend took Jack. And don't you think for a second his people aren't doing the same thing to Jack,  _ right now _ ." His voice shook a little at the name, but he took a step towards the teen, "If you can't stomach this then fuck off, cowards aren't tolerated in this family."

There was a pause as the boy deliberated, then came a gentle patter of footsteps as he retreated to the hallway, farther down than he was before. Shane almost wanted to get the boy out of this place, before he could be corrupted into something he would have hated now. And that is a lot, coming from a demon.

When Shane finally looked like he could manage to form intelligible words, Tinsley stepped close again, roughly yanking out the pipe.

"You're going to tell me where you fucking took him," Tinsley growled into his ear, jerking his head up by his hair, and Shane laughed in his face, the sound broken up by gurgles from the blood and broken flesh in his mouth. "You really think a few splashes of heavenly acid will make me talk? You got another one coming buddy."

He laughed some more as the man roared in rage, but the blow never came when they were interrupted a second time. 

"You've done quite enough, time to let the brains take over the operation." It was Mr. Suitman, with another pair of light footsteps trailing him. 

Shane spit out the gore in his mouth, aiming for Tinsley’s shoes, "Your man here's shit, you got ‘nything better for me?" Shane grinned with his bloody mouth at Suitman, "Before I get bored." 

He would figure out a way out of this. He trusted that Ry must be working himself up into quite a frenzy readying a rescue party, but it wouldn't be helpful to dangle here and not do shit to help minimize the damage to his people. He can hold out against whatever they throw at him well enough, but there is no telling what they might do to his physical body to make escaping solo infinitely more difficult. 

"Oh, I think you will be very interested Mr. Madej." Shane could hear the sly smile in Suit's voice, "Allow me to introduce Mary here,  _ former _ voodoo queen, but I'm sure you two are already well acquainted, no?"

Shane froze, and Suit's high-pitched laugh rang out as trembling fingers pressed into his temples. Amidst the sightless black, Shane sensed a gently glowing tendril gently brush his own roiling dark power, and in his head, he heard the warning from the woman he had once known, the only kindness she will be able to do him in the hours, days to come.  _ Be ready. _

He felt pain radiate through her spirit as if a leash was tightened, then bright beams shot at his mind. Shane buckled with agony, mouth open in a soundless scream as he braced against the barrage of attacks to penetrate his mental shields, to claw out intel.

To take over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used multiple real person names in this chapter, mostly because I’m bad at making up names but also because I want to at least try to ground the characters in some parts of the show canon. So here's the index:  
\- A.J. originates from the psychic they invited along in the house visit in the “Haunting of Hannah Williams” episode  
\- Sarah, the agent that told Ryan to calm down, is Shane’s real-life girlfriend Sarah Rubin. For the purposes of this fic she has known Shane longer than Ryan, and presumably trained with Shane before Shane and Ryan became partners  
\- Mary is from the “Bizarre Voodoo World Of New Orleans” episode where the lady Bloody Mary showed them around the sites and debunked some misconceptions about voodoo. 
> 
> Anyways, feedback is very much appreciated, please tell me what you think!


End file.
